Hunter's Rain
by UnknownWriter888
Summary: Three heroes, one goal. A bandit, a nomad and scholar, all bound to change the course of the world. But the question is... Can they do it without a Dovahkiin?
1. Prologue

_**Prologue**_

 _ **~ ~ ~ Unknown ~ ~ ~**_

 _"Pain is a mere tool that separates the weak from the strong. Those who survive are destined to be great. Those who die were never worth living in the first place."_

Rain... How I hated the rain. And here I was now, running through this festering swamp while the skies above poured their filth upon me. I could feel something on my shoulder, was it another spider? My head turned to the right, my hand clawing at my skin to pull the wretched arachnid from my flesh. A hiss broke from between my teeth as I flicked the bug away and kept pushing through the water, feeling the swamp water lap at my waistline. Mud was threatening to enclose my feet as I waded through, rocks prickling the soles of my feet.

I could still hear the sounds of a search party in the distance. Even through the thick trees of Black Marsh, the light of fire could be seen, a warm glow in the distance. I gritted my teeth as I pulled myself onto the shore. _Stubborn Argonians._ Far too determined for their own good. _No wonder father wanted an alliance with them._ I almost laughed at this thought but caught myself quickly.

A rustle was coming to my left, catching me by surprise. What a fool I was to rest for even just a moment! _Move!_ My mind screamed at me but my feet refused to act. A hand shot to my back, reaching over for the crude blade I had acquired during my time here.

"Xhuth, naktis," a voice hissed from the darkness and I calmed… For a moment. "I am not here to fight you, thux."

"Khani, Seevara, kaoc' theilult!" The Jel tongue rolled off my lips like I was born to speak it, but I could feel the language was still crude to the reptile's ears. He stood opposite me, red-scaled, scars across his features and his eyes golden and boring into my own.

At my words, he merely chuckled and smirked, like the idiot he is. But an idiot he may, he was the closest thing I had to a friend in this distant land. "Why do you run, naktis? Is the truth too much for you to bear?"

"Waxhuthill, Seevara, you know why!" I couldn't help but snap, the effects of the swamp had become a infectious wound on my mood.

The Argonian's face didn't change and he stepped closer, his clawed hand resting upon my shoulder. "I do not blame you."

I shrugged his hand away, the comforting effect lost on me. "Yet they do. They see me as a monster, a pawn, a tool! I did what they asked and they spat it in my face!"

He blinked once. "Perhaps."

"Is that meant to make me feel any better?"

"No."

His words irked me and made my skin crawl. I turned my head and walked away, feeling his eyes on my back. I could hear him calling from behind me, his footfalls soft against the soil as he followed.

"Do remember we have done much for you, egg-sister! Kreen-Shei, Sun-Belly, Ulann-"

"I will not deny that," I interrupted him, causing the lizard to hiss lightly.

"You act as if you didn't know the risks."

My eyes met his own and my teeth bared. "The risks were clear."

Seevara sighed, the frustration in his voice apparent to me, but his next sentence was said with clear empathy. "They will find you. You know this. We were trained to never fail."

"As was I."

We stared at one another, black meeting gold. His eyes were emotionless and I knew my own mirrored that. We both knew what emotion was in our trade - Weakness. Neither of us could afford to show that weakness.

"They'll kill you if they know we have spoken," I said plainly.

The Argonian chuckles. "I am not afraid."

"You should be," I vexed, grimacing and walking away from him. He didn't follow, but I could still feel his presence in the vicinity. I could hear the nix hounds screeching in the swamps, their horrible insectoid's cry causing me to cringe. Their call was one I had heard many times before in our clan… They were hunting.

I looked towards the fire light in the distance, now closer than ever before, and then back to my only friend in this land. His face was stern now, as if he was scolding me. "Do not blame yourself, this was not your fault, naktis. How many have we killed together? Ten, twenty? Fifty? Thier lives were destined to end by our hands. Fanik tahrinn la zantel. What does it matter now?"

My eyes closed and I lifted my head towards the sky. Through the trees, I could see a slim sliver of starlight shining down towards us. It calmed me so, even though the rain was splattering my eyes. I raised a hand, shielding them, and pondered the Argonian's words. But even so…

"Their deaths are mine to carry, saxhleel. This is the burden I carry. I cared for my brother and sisters, like they were of my own kin. They did not deserve this… This… This… Gah!" A cry broke from my throat, echoing to the stars above, before I descended into child-like whimpers.

Seevera sighed and turned away, his eyes falling closed and his hand sliding upon the hilt of his sword. "Then run, thux. Run and do not turn back. For I will kill you if they do not." His eyes open and they turn to me, his expression serious.

The moment of weakness I had shown was enough for my brother to give me what I need - An escape. My cries are silenced and I turned away, my feet moving of their own accord, taking me away from this wretched place. Their pace quickened and I broke into a run, my chest heaving from the effort and I ran, ran like the coward I am, and into the night I bolted. A thunder crackled echoed above and soon, the sound of my own footprints was faded out.

God, I hated the rain.


	2. Chapter One

_**Chapter One**_

 _ **~ ~ ~ Sabina Marco ~ ~ ~**_

 _*twang!*_

The arrow was perfectly on point, slicing through the air, and slammed into the side of it's target's neck. The doe let out a cry of pain, before a second arrow struck it's rump. It staggered, only to roll dead onto the grass below it's hooves. Crimson was splattered up onto the tree behind it and I couldn't help but smile at the sight.

I lowered my bow, arms relaxing and crept close to what will now become a week's worth of dinner for my hungry stomach. Game was sparse in this area, with the Jarl's poaching law and all, but they were ignored by most. My knife slammed into its shoulder blade and I carved, ripping through tendons and muscle, stripping flesh from bones.

The quiet hum of a torch bug was the only sound apart from my own that was in the area. Trees taller than anything else around surrounded myself in this quiet grove and long grass swayed as the gentle breeze brushed against them. It was a quaint place and a far cry from the swamps of Argonia.

Ah, Argonia… While it was a cruel and harsh land to those who feared it, I found it pleasurable during it's good days. Flowers would bloom in patches where the sun would reach the swamp shores, trees dipped their roots down in the earth and their twisting, gnarled branches would span across the sky, fighting each other for space. The scent of the place held a fine musk and would seem to come from nowhere and everywhere at once.

It was wise of the lizard-folk to spread rumours of the deadliness of their home. Even the infamous Talos, Tiber Septim himself, was too cowardly to venture into the depths of the swamps. It was said that humans couldn't enter it without getting sick or dying a gruesome death. But I entered it and lived there for a very long time. Most of the Saxhleel found my Imperial body strange enough, but then again, I found that many were welcoming of me.

After I had butchered the doe and wrapped what meat I could salvage in the her pelt, I rose from the ground, my head twisting left and right. No predators had followed me to my kill and the only remains were a pile of twisted bones and blood on the ground. My rations had run low and I knew I could not afford to cross into the nearest village to buy supplies, as my gold count was as low as my food supply. Thus, I had carved a bow out of wood and strung it up with the stomach lining of a rabbit and whittled simple arrows. They were not perfect but apparently they worked fine.

My camp was not far and was well hidden in the forest. I slung the sack of meat over my shoulder and trudged my way through the woods, avoiding the main paths, and over the ridge I crept. The sun was barely peeking over, the last rays for the day cause an orange glow over the forest trees. There was barely snow in this region of Skyrim, but those pockets that did remain caused a shiver to go through my spine. It was a reminded that this land could be harsh, unforgiving and I could not afford to let the weather overcome me. Still, I would rather have snow over rain.

It had been three weeks since I fled Black Marsh. Three weeks of running, hiding and never sleeping in the same place. Three weeks of hiking, avoiding the trails and going hungry for the sake of making ground. Three weeks of sore feet, aching muscles and dry throats. Three fucking weeks of this. I did not believe I was followed, and if I was, I was prepared to deal with them. A finger went to my bow, thumbing the string and feeling the tension. _Need to be tightened_ , I noted, before releasing it.

The life of a nomad was harsh, but I had grown fond of it, I will admit. Solitude does have it's perks. I shot a gaze over my shoulder, watching the sun finally make its descent behind the Jerall mountains, their jagged and daunting peaks looming against the darkening sky. The moons were rounds and full, just like they were on that fateful night when I left the swamps. Somewhere in the distant, crows cawed, owls hooted and a pack of wolves howled. I shivered slightly as cold wind blew over, sending the cloak I was wearing to flap against my legs. A swore escaped my lips and forcing me to bring my barbaric fur armor tighter against my skin.

After a few minutes of walking, I turned and pushed through some brambles, scratching my skin open with their prickles. A necessary precaution, but painful all the same. I came to my camp and dumped the meat by the circle of ash that was once a campfire. A pile of furs lay nearby and I curled upon them, pulling the top most over myself to shield my body from the cold. A storm was coming, I could feel it in my bones. No fire would be lit tonight, too risky and the wind was going to be howling causing it to be useless.

I let my eyes fall close and for a few moments, I am at peace. The memories of the last few nights of events washed over me, lingering on the more significant. I was foolish to try and cut through Cyrodill, I had forgotten how tense relations were between the provinces after the Great War. The Imperial guards had trailed me as I crossed the province, suspicious of me for unknown reasons, but I managed to lose them somewhere around Bruma.

Sleep came over me and I rested, the warmth of the furs around me soothing my aching bones and muscles. A light rain fell across the forests of Whiterun, just as I predicted and the wind was a mere whisper upon the trees. I don't know how long I slept for it had felt like an age since I last had.

Unfortunately, this felt very short-lived because then, a new noise joined the fray of those around me… Clopping upon stone, like those of heavy boots upon stone. No, that wasn't it… Hooves. Horse hooves.

They were too close. I sat up very quickly, throwing off the pelts and reaching for my weapons - A bow, a sword and a quiver of arrows lay nearby, worn and broken but good enough to use still. My backpack went swinging over my shoulder and I broke away from my hiding spot to slink down towards the noise of the intruders. I didn't realise I had slept so long until I came over the hill and the sun came right into my eyes.

From my position, I could see Whiterun in the distance, a low covering of fog circling the streams around its border. A bird chirped nearby and I could smell the sweet scent of fresh hay and flowers blooming by the farms to the west, while a trickle of smoke rose above the fog in the east. I predicted it was very early, too early for nay but farmers and peasants to be awake.

My feet moved quickly and I stumbled a little as I crept through the bushes. _I would never get used to moving with legs_ , I grumbled silently to myself, before I paused as the hoofsteps grew closer.

Two beings passed beneath the bluff where I was now perched, heading south along the trail and across a stone bridge. Three were upon the horses, a pair slightly behind on bays and another ahead on a palomino. The two slightly behind were in glistening black armor that was adorned with the carvings of eagles and feathers, while the one who rode ahead was in some form of trench cloak and hood, dark with lines of gold. He seemed to be in charge, speaking in a haughty tone to his comrades. "Come now, we cannot afford to linger any longer! We must get to Helgen immediately!"

Helgen… It was a small Nordic town to the south but I knew little other than that. Was it significant to these elves? I furrowed my brow as they continued on their way, struggling to remember why they appeared so familiar. With a few swift steps, I descended the hill and followed the trio as they carried on, moving on at a trot. This was not my business, sure, but curiosity was spurring me onwards.

The trio was silent and quickly disappeared from my sight in the early morning light. Then it hit me as hard as a warhammer in the gut - Thalmor. I cursed a little and halted my walk after them. The rulers of Summerset Isles and the sworn enemies of the Empire and pretty much everyone else on Tamriel. I brushed a strand of raven-black hair out of my eyes and frowned as the sound of their horses disappeared into the early dawn.

I had heard tales of them when I was camped with the Argonians. The saxhleel were about as fond of them as were of Dunmeri slavers. As they nursed me back to health after my injuries upon the sea, they would whisper of the Thalmor and their cruel deeds across the land. As scared as they were of me and my Imperial form, they grew fond of me soon enough.

Despite the danger, despite the risk of them discovering me, and despite the lack of reasoning for doing so… I followed.


	3. Chapter Two

_**Chapter Two**_

 _ **~ ~ ~ Titan of the Ashlands ~ ~ ~**_

Again and again, the soldier lashed out at me, his fist pummeling itself into my flesh. "Talk, elf! Tell us who you are!"

Idiotic human. He was trying too hard to get my tongue to waggle. But I, Titan of the Ashlands, was not about to give it up so easily. His yells were echoing through the small clearing we were in, drowning out the noise of anvils banging and small conversation by the other Imperial soldiers around us. A few small tents were erect with sleeping men and women in them and the rest were working, resting or training. Barely anyone else turned an eye towards me.

I sneered from my position upon the forest floor, the ropes binding my wrists together cutting into my ashen skin. I could feel blood dripping from a cut above my eye, dripping down over my brow and smearing the red warpaint upon my face. I spat at my torturer's feet, causing the Imperial soldier to stumble back in disgust. "Go to Oblivion," I snarled. "And say hi to your mother again for me!"

 _*THUMP*_

A heavily armoured boot suddenly slammed into my side and I wheezed loudly, before spitting blood to my side. Damn bastard! I'll split his ruddy head once I got out of here! I struggled against my binds, pain shooting through my ribs and back. I think they were broken, or at least cracked. As stars spun above my eyes, I saw two Imperial soldiers standing over me, their faces dark with fury.

One issued an order to the other, which I didn't hear properly, and the next thing I know, I was back on my feet. I was woozy but I could still mumble at them. "You… You'll pay for this… You… You damn Imperials."

The one staring closest to me shook his head and a sneer crossed his face. "Bandits… All the same, no matter the race. Scum of the world."

That's right, I'm a bandit. Or I was, at least. That's what got me into this mess in the first place, tell you the truth. Should have stuck to raiding small caravans. But oh no, Klekr insisted on attempting to take the large one that was guarded by only 'two soldiers'. The idiot couldn't count unless it was a pair of tits and by Oblivion, he only saw them once every three moons!

Where was I? Oh yeah, bandit. I came over from Morrowind many years after the Red Mountain exploded but unlike my brothers and sisters of the ash, I refused to enter Windhelm. Too many stories of Dunmer getting the short end of the stick by the Nords, too many tales of how horrible the humans were to my people. I didn't believe it at first but now… Now I could see it.

So, like a coward, I ran away. Ran away and started robbing and killing and doing what I needed to survive. I met up with like-minded folks and ran with them, soon earning everything I could ever want - women, coin, drink and a dry place to sleep. By the four, my parents would be so proud… I shook the image of my parents from my mind and returned to the present day. Too many bad memories, too many for me to deal with right now.

The guards were escorting me to a carriage now, shoving me forward like I was a pig being led to the slaughter. I dug my feet in, but they simple shoved me even harder and even picked me up when I simply resisted further. I was tossed into the back roughly and that's where I saw the rest of them. Three men were already there, bound and gagged with bits of cloth. No… Only one was.

He appeared to very noble-looking in his fur-lined robes, a broad-shoulder Nord with the typical grizzled face and dirty blonde hair tied back with braids. As I landed roughly by his feet and pulled myself up onto the bench near him, his brown eyes turn to gaze upon me. I couldn't help myself, I snapped at him, "What are you looking at, Nord!?"

The second man of the three before me, another blonde man in some form of leather and fur armor, snapped back at me. "Watch your tongue! You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!" He glared at me after his statement, his eyes piercing into my own. My eyes flicked to his hands that were, while bound, clad in some barbaric gauntlets that appeared to have claws sprouting from the knuckles.

Before I could get another word out of my mouth, the final man spoke. Unlike the others, he was in rags, appeared quite young and was filthy looking with dirt all over his hands, face and clothes. "Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? What are you doing here?"

As he rattled on about the rebellion, my hands curled into fists. Stormcloak… Yes, I remember now. Currently, Skyrim was in the grip of a brutal civil war between the native Nords and the militant force of the Imperial Legion. I didn't really care for the reasons behind the war, wasn't my business anyway, but I knew it was bullshit either way. Who cares who worships what dead god? Don't remember the Thalmor getting pissy at my ancestors for worshipping Viviec or the rest of the Reclamations. But Ulfric… He was the Jarl of Windhelm, the one place I swore to never go!

The cart has quietened now, but I heard the dirty Nord admit he was from a town called Rorikstead after the second asked him. So we were being put to death, huh? Didn't expect any better from the Empire, to be honest… Though I will admit I was growing more terrified by the second. I glanced over my shoulder and noticed a great gate was looming over us now as the carriage rolled towards a small city. A sign on the stone wall read a name - Helgen.

"General Tullius sir, the headsman is waiting!"

That was an Imperial soldier calling from by the gate as we rolled towards them, waving to a man who rode on ahead of us upon a white stallion. "Good, let's get this over with!" the man known as the General replied as he trotted to the side and met with a trio of High Elves, all dressed in the black and gold uniforms of the Thalmor. Prissy-ass bitches…

The second man wasn't fond to see them either. "Damn elves. I bet they had something to with this!" Beside him, the dirty Nord was whimpering prayers to the divines and rocking back and forth on the seat, furiously pulling at his bindings.

"Wh-Why are we stopping?" he stuttered, eyes widening in terror.

"Why do you think?" the second replied in a bitter tone. "End of the line."

He was right. We pulled into a small circular area and we were surrounded by the stone walls of Helgen. Men and women, soldiers and civilians, were watching the carriage-loads of prisoners pull in. As I gazed around, I could see a variety of reactions. Pity. Shock. Disgust. Satisfaction.

"Let's go, shouldn't keep the Gods waiting for us." The second rose then and he kicked the dirty one in the shin, making him yelp and frantically hop down from the cart. The formal-looking one, Ulfric, glanced back at me and then followed, making the cart rock slightly. I was next and I walked slowly, shoulders squared and landed down after him.

It was at this moment I could see how many Stormcloaks were among us. The thief and myself were the only ones not wearing their colours (save their captors, of course). A few glanced towards us curiously as an Imperial in heavy plate steel approached us with a much younger lad by her side. He had a quill and paper in hand, possible to check off the soldiers.

One by one, they were called forward and had their names crossed off by the guards. I glanced away as this was happening, focusing on a brawny Redguard a few feet away. He was sitting upon a stone block and had his dark eyes fixated on the rebels. Absent-mindedly, he strokes a whetstone down on the axe that was leaning against his lap, sharpening the already brutal edge to perfection. A shiver raced up my spine.

"I'm not a rebel, you can't do this!" I turned back at the sound of the third's voice, (I think they said his name was Lokir?) before I watched him break into a sprint, away from the soldiers. He sent a final taunt at the Imperials, "Not gonna kill me!"

"Archers!"

At the last moment of his sentence, an legionnaire rounded the corner of the tower near us and drew his sword, thrusting it into Lokir's chest as the man sped towards him. Archers from afar put at least three arrows in the lad's back too. No remorse was given as the sword-wielder merely kicked the corpse away, pulling his sword free and wiping it.

The Imperial note-taker made a face of disgust and turned to me now. "Well, that was pleasant. Now, who may you be?"

"I am Titan of the Ashlands," I boasted in a confident voice. "And I am not a part of these so-called rebels you have captured!"

"Um…" The young man tapped his page and looked rather confused. "Another refugee? Gods really have abandoned your people, Dark Elf." He looked to the woman beside him. "Captain, what should we do? He's not on the list, nor a rebel…"

The captain looked at me with a hateful look. "He may not be a rebel, but he was captured on the grounds of banditry. So forget the list, he goes to the block!"

Typical. I turned away as the first Imperial rushed an apology at me. A grunt escaped my lips and I looked to the sky. The General I saw earlier, Tullius, was having a one-way shouting match at Ulfric. Apparently the Jarl murdered the High King with his voice… Was that the name of his sword?

RARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGH~

My attention was distracted again when a sound louder than anything else I've heard rang through Helgen. Louder than a bear's roar, more brutal than a war cry, it drove everyone to silence. Some questioned it but were quickly silenced by their companions. Somehow, I felt drawn to it… What beast could do such a sound?

I shook my head and shrugged. It was probably just a bear in a gorge, making it's cry echo. I watched a Nord approach the chopping block, his head held high and his voice calling out his dedication to Ulfric's cause. Before I could blink, he was down and his head rolled into a wooden crate by the chopping block.

"You Imperial bastards!"

"Justice!"

"Death to the Stormcloaks!"

The citizens of Helgen were hollering at the scene, both for and against the Imperials. I heard another cry come out from the Captain. "You there, you're next!"A quick glance to the front made me realise it wasn't me being called forward but a red-headed woman amongst the Stormcloaks.

The echoing roar came again, much louder this time, however it was simply dismissed once more. I turned away from the proceedings, not wishing to see any more bloodshed today, and began watching a child who stood nearby, staring at the decapitated head. Nords… They called us barbaric and let they would allow a child to watch an execution?

However, before I could process this for much longer, the sound came a third time and then, by the four, what was that?!

A huge black creature of scales landed upon the tower above me, staring down with blood-red eyes, covered in spikes and a wide open maw. It roared and I heard the people around me cry out in fear.

"Dragon!"


	4. Chapter Three

_**Chapter Three**_

 _ **~ ~ ~ Titan of the Ashlands ~ ~ ~**_

I could only stare up at the dragon above me, mine and it's mouth agape. It's chest incurvated inward as it sucked in a breath before a sound louder than a thunderclap rang through the air, knocking most of us down to the earth. I was stunned for only a few moments, but even through my haze I could see that we were in trouble.

Helgen was at war. Fire and flying rocks rained down from the heavens, smashing into buildings and setting them alight. The sky itself was crimson, like blood; clouds swirling and the dragon circling the city, roaring and screeching it's terrible cry. Flames poured from it's mouth as it razed the town. The Imperials were mobilizing quickly, the General screaming orders at his soldiers.

And here I was, like an idiot, watching them!

My feet acted of their own accord and I scrambled up and bolted, following the Stormcloaks I saw earlier. They were heading towards a nearby tower, the one I heard be called Ralof leading them there. Fate was against me, as I slammed into the door to the tower, only to find it has been locked shut. Filthy s'wits! I threw my shoulder against it and it buckled, but I was pushed back. Panic was filling my mind, I was out in the open and my hands bound.

"In here, hurry!"

A woman's voice was calling amongst the sound of chaos. My head swivelled and I saw her, a young blonde Nord directing men, women and children into the building beside the tower. Our eyes met and her hands beckoned towards me, inviting me further. I must have hit my head pretty damn hard for I never would have done this otherwise… I ascended the worn steps of the tavern before me and I was pushed inside before hearing the click of a lock.

The tavern was the same as many others I have seen during my travels. Fur pelts adorned the walls and elk antlers hung from the mantle as proud trophies from Nordic hunts. I walked in slowly and I felt every face in the room turn to me. No Imperial soldiers were here now, just ordinary men and women suiting up into armor and drawing weapons as they prepared to join the defence. Some of them were staring at me, like I was a filthy maggot who just crawled from the eye socket of a rotting netch corpse. Some were even whispering and if my hands were not bound, at least one of them would have gained a punch in their ugly fucking faces.

I could hear the dragon roaring outside but I was busy moving away from the sound. The door flew open and some of the citizens raced out, bellowing barbaric war cries with their swords and axes raised to the skies. Those that remained behind were huddling under tables or in the corners, muttering to themselves, mostly young women, children and the elderly. Only one warrior remained, a beefy man with a mop of dark hair, and I was getting glared at by him.

"I know you!" he suddenly shouted, and with only a few short steps, he was in front of me, fuming. I felt his giant-ass meat-hooks for hands grab me by the shoulders mere moments before he slammed me into the closest hard surface.

A small 'oof!' escaped my lips as the Nord lifted me by my shirt, tearing it a little. I snarled and I swung my leg into his side, only for pain to shoot through it as I hit his armor. "Let go of me!"

"Yer one of them prisoners!" he boomed. "A bandit! You're part of the Iron-Hunt Clan who took over Embershard mine!"

"Better that than a filthy barbarian like you, Nord!" A growl-like grunt broke through my lips and I spat straight into his eyes. "And I didn't do shit!" I added on.

He swore loudly in disgust and I was tossed to the ground, skidding along and rolling onto my side. I had barely looked back up at the angry Nord before a loud noise rocked the air around us.

 _ **CRASH!**_

I could barely hear the screams of terror ringing around me and then there was nasty squelching noise. I kept my head down, fearing the worst and then, all of a sudden, the noise stopped… All that I could hear was the muffled roars of the dragon outside.

Opening my eyes, I saw that the inn was now gutted by fire and meteorites. Most of the inhabitants were dead and those who were not were long-gone. My tormenter now laid dead upon the cold floor, a beam from the ceiling above laying square across his now shattered back.

Stupid idiot deserved it. However, now I was alone and caught in the middle of a battle I didn't want to be in! I got to my feet, shaking and looked around, tugging at my bindings on my wrists. Thankfully, a dagger was on a shelf nearby and I managed to use it to free my hands, with minimum injuries. I took the blade too, keeping it close.

I didn't like small blades. Too small, too easy to miss. If I wanted to kill someone, the bigger the better I say. And blades were too clean too, what I really needed was a big, long and thick…

"Warhammer!" I almost shouted as I spied one over in the corner, leaning against one of the only still standing walls. It was of Nordic craft, as expected, constructed of pure steel with leather wrappings around the handle. Lifting it into my hands, the familiar weight returned and I did a few practice swings around me. Yes, this will do nicely.

Despite my confidence with the weapon, I fear my situation is growing more grim. While the heat around me did not bother me, the raging of the gutted inn was a very big problem. I was no longer sheltered and I needed to move before the whole place collapsed!

A clattering on the wood above my head tells me that people are upstairs on the second floor. From a hole nearby, a Stormcloak soldier leaps down to the ground, her red-hair flying in the wind. She barely glances back and pushes through some loose boards to the outside world. I hear someone yell for her and by the time I have followed, all I can see is a man and a boy cowering by the ruin.

"Gods guide you, Hadvar!" called the older of the two, a balding Nord in simple furs, to a fleeing Imperial soldier who was… Escorting the Stormcloak? Shit, they have their priorities sorted… I couldn't help but smirk and snigger internally.

The old Nord looked to me and I could see surprise was etched upon his weathered face. His eyes flick to my hammer and then back to my face. The boy looks equally as startled, but also curious as well. "Well, c'mon then…" he finally said to me. "Let's get going!" And with a beckon of his hand, he led me and the boy through an alleyway, the wood of the buildings burnt and scorched, the stone crumbling and broken.

Helgen was losing its fight. The dragon screeched and roared, setting alight the city and pillaging it of inhabitants. Imperial archers and mages fired their arrows and magic at it, but it had no effect. Screams were echoing, children were crying and worst of all, it looked as if we were going to be dragon shit.

The black beast was over us in an instant and there was nothing me or the Nord could do. The fiend swooped down like an oversized bat and between its talons, the man was snatched up like a rabbit on the plains. The dragon did not feast on him, oh no. I could only watch as the dragon soared high above the clouds and let the man drop from it's grip where he fell to a grisly death.

The boy looked to me desperately and for a brief moment, I almost felt a pang of pity for the pale-skin. "Wh-wh-what do we do now?" he stammered, frightened out of his wits. "Hadvar said he would keep me safe!"

I didn't know what to say and simply pushed him on, heading to cut through yet another building. A dead Imperial was in here, a nasty wound on his throat and beside him, a Stormcloak with a sword through his chest. Even amongst dragons, the two factions still found a way to squabble.

Kneeling down, I reached for the Imperial and pulled his leather mail away from the corpse while the young kid whimpered and carried on like a lost puppy in the corner. While I was still an apprentice smith, I knew that most armor could fit to my size fairly well with minimal adjustments needed. The gauntlets were tight but could be loosened. Boots were a size too small and squished my toes, however it was bearable. The cuirass and that stupid skirt were too big, meaning I had to use some of the leather from my hammer to form a tight sash around my waist. Finally, I deduced that Imperial helmets were NOT made for elf heads.

I smirked as I made my way out of the room, happy with my impromptu disguise. While not perfect, this would protect me briefly if I ran into trouble on the way out of this cesspool. I didn't notice the kid behind me until he grabbed my wrist.

"There's an exit here, a hole in the wall!" he shouted, but I shrugged his hand away.

"Alright, let's go!" I grumbled and ran, ran as I heard an almighty BOOM behind me. I turned slightly and my mouth dropped.

The dragon… He had landed behind me!

I didn't know how big he was. Bigger than a netch or a silt-strider and wider than three long-boats end-to-end. His scales were pitch-black and his eyes were crimson like blood. Spikes and spines ran down his body, longer than an average sword. My eyes traced every detail, marvelling at the beauty of such a creature and so terrified I swear my drawers were going to be soiled.

"Meyye! Tahrodiis aanne! Him hinde pah liiv!" it boomed, it's wide maw opening wide. "Zu'u hin daan!"

RUN! My mind screamed and I obeyed, turning away and bolting away from the beast as it took to the air. I kept low, praying he wouldn't dive down to snatch me up too, nor breathe fire upon my back.

Pushing forward, I dived through the new exit of the city and was suddenly surprised by a steep hill beneath my feet. I skidded down and fell onto my face, before I rolled to the bottom in an exhausted heap. The boy was still there, bloodied from scraped knees and his clothes dirty. He wandered towards me. "Can you take me to Riften?" he asked. "My grandfather lives near there!"

My ears twitched and I turned to look down at the Nord. And then, I laughed. "Forget it, kid! You're on your own!" I pushed him out of my way as I rose from the ground. "You're a burden to me and it's time you learnt not to be a bitch."

I strode away, my shoulders shaking and then I ran, ran in a random direction with no indication where I was going. And then, I realised something now…

I was a wanted criminal. Skyrim was at war. And worst still, a dragon was loose!


	5. Chapter Four

_**Chapter Four**_

 _ **~ ~ ~ Seeks-the-Storm ~ ~ ~**_

Winterhold certainly did live up to it's name. A blizzard was blowing upon the land and the sky was a dreary grey, allowing no sun to grace the shores today. The whistle of the wind was quite irritating to say the least, especially when my window kept rattling alongside it.

"Xuth! How can one work in these conditions!?" I grumbled in an exasperated tone, rising from the chair in my room to once again slam the window shut, the wood buckling under the brunt of the weather. The latch creaked in protest, not liking the torment it was forced to endure.

The College of Winterhold might be bleak, true, but it was one of the last places for true magical study in Tamriel. The School of Julianos, the Synod School of Study, College of Whispers, even the mysterious Psijic Order… All truly amazing places I could only dare to dream of! Unlike the swamps of Argonia, civilised study could be formed here… More or less.

The thought had barely crossed my mind when an explosion suddenly came from the room to my right and laughter erupted through the Hall of Attainment, the hollers echoing throughout the building. I rose from my chair, tail flicking to the side as I walked from my room and into the next. My nose wrinkled in disdain as an unpleasant odour wafted towards my nostrils. What on Nirn…?

"Do it again, yes!" A male voice called as I entered the next area and to which I saw J'zargo, Breyla and Onmund, three of my fellow apprentices, sitting around a open crate which I saw now had a splatter of a mess in it and the distinct smell of rotten egg in the air. I gagged and stuttered as the Dunmer of the trio turned to me. "I would leave if I were you, lizard," she huffed, covering her face with robes as the Nord, Onmund, lit his hands up with lightning and prepared to zap yet another egg into dust, making the Khajiit beside him cackle.

Despite her tone, I felt as if the woman was sincere in her words and without another word from myself, I disembarked. Nords and Khajiit… Setting sparks to a rotten egg, is this what they considered true magical study?! I could only roll my eyes as I made my way out of the Hall.

The blizzard outside was settling but the wind still blew cold upon my pale scales and sent shivers erupting from my brow to the very tip of my tail. I grasped at my robes with my claws and tightened them around me. _Xuth, I will never grow use to Skyrim's cold…_ I thought, hissing out loud as well as in my mind.

A chuckle came from my left and Faralda, the Altmer Destruction master of the Institute, came from a leaning against an alcove in the stonebrick of the College's grounds, snowflakes across her robes and fur cloak. "Enjoying the weather?" she asked with a slight smile.

I could only smile back and brushed my hood back, curled horns coming forth and showing the frozen tips of the blue feathers upon my head. "As much as one can…"

"Skyrim may be cold, yes," she replied. "But there is magic here that is untouched and untampered by those around it. It is up to us here in the Collage to guide those who seek the knowledge to use it… Or chase storms."

Ah, a crack at my name, all too common here. I chuckled. "It's translated for your people's benefit, do remember." The truth was what I spoke, but I'll admit I had grown fond of my new name.

Seeks-The-Storms, Tali-joon. What is a name regardless? A collection of letters aligned to oneself in order to give a sense of identity? No, we are all thought to be simple minions in a great game played by those above and beyond our reach. Our actions make us who we are and I for one will not be a pawn in a scripted fate, to live and die before I had achieved what I had sought to become.

Become one with lightning.

How I had dreamed for many nights to control the weather, to feel lightning through my veins like a wamusu, to feel the wind around my feathers, to feel ice upon my fingers and to breath fire like the legendary dragons of old… How wondrous that magic would be!

But… It was just a dream. I shook my head and looked out the window, watching the snowflakes drift across the sky. Faralda followed my gaze and was peering over the town. She incorrectly read my thoughts. "Do not fret about the Nords. They have always hated the college and always will."

"What? Oh, I do not care for that," I replied dryly, my eye narrowing. "It is a shame, but I do not care in the slightest. I simply seek knowledge and here it is, not down in the snow."

My lecturer nodded and with no other words, she departed my presence, heading towards the main building, the Hall of the Elements. She had barely entered and closed the great doors shut before they were thrown open again, another Altmer swiftly moving away. My eyes narrowed as his dark robes billowed in the snowstorm.

The Thalmor overlord - apologies I meant advisor - gave no looks towards me but was simply hurrying along to the great bridge that linked the city and the College. He passed by Mirabelle, the Master Wizard, who merely gave him a pointed look and continued upon her way.

"I hope you are settling well, Seeks-The-Storms," she remarked to me, looking down to write something else in that book she seemed to be always carrying.

"As well as one can in these conditions…" I replied, flicking my tail back and forth. Yes, I was still complaining about the weather, for Hist's sake, it is bloody freezing after all!

"Perhaps you should head to the inn…" she suggested. "I believe your fellow apprentices like to head there when the weather permits them to."

Her words had barely escaped her lips when Breyla emerged from the quarters behind me, gasping and shaking her head. "Damn you boys to Oblivion!" Her crimson eyes soon found my blue ones and she quickly turned away, to escape my reptilian gaze. "I'm going to the inn, will you join me?"

A brief nod was my answer and after a few seconds, we departed, heading across the great bridge and down into the city. The wind blew hard, trying it's hardest to force us off the stonework but we held fast, magic aglow in our hands and wards brushing off the harshest of the vile push. I tightened my fur cloak tighter around myself and soon found myself upon the snow-kissed ground of Winterhold.

To call it a city was an understatement. The years had not been kind to Winterhold and there was much to show for it. The wall around the city was crumbling and broken, large gaps forming between pillars. Rickety houses and thatched roofs were the only defence from the harsh northern winter and even that was not enough at points. Ruins of the city still clung desperately at the rock face beyond the houses, fallen brethren beneath and crumbling on the shores of the Sea of Ghosts. And every so often, a pale-silhouette of a spirit would venture forth from a darkened corner of the town, drifting along the path and passing by guards, who in turn made no indication they even saw the spectre, ignoring them completely.

My Dunmer friend and I made our way to the inn, only to find two of the citizens having an argument on the front porch. I knew them not, but judging from the look of my companion, she certainly did. As we approached, the male of the duo walked straight into the inn, slamming the door and causing the woman to yell at the wood. "Don't you walk away from me, Ranmir!"

Another sound caught my attention and I turned to face the road leading out of Winterhold, watching and waiting. Breyla tapped my shoulder. "What is it, scaleback? Get inside before you freeze to death!"

A pointed look met her face and a slight hiss escaped from my tongue. "Don't you degrade me, Dunmer. Something is coming."

Her face turned to the roads and I could see that she knew I was right. Through the howl of the mid-afternoon winds, the quick and echoing clip-clop of hooves upon stone could be detected. Even the guards of Winterhold (all five of them) seemed to be alerted to it as we were. One walked towards the gate and looked out over the snow, flicking up his helmet's visor.

"Open the gates!" he called to his comrade upon the wall. "Galmar and the 'Cloaks ride towards us!"

"Stormcloaks!" I turned to see Breyla exclaim this remark and looked upon with worried eyes. I had been in Skyrim for seldom a week and I knew not of what she was referring to. But judging from her expression, I knew she did not like the so-called 'Stormcloaks.'

A small group of men rode into the city, their poor ponies panting hard but seemed to not notice nor care. They dismounted and I could see their uniform more clearly - Blue cloth over chainmail and leather, fur boots and gauntlets adorning their limbs and a mix of steel, iron and leather hoods over their facial features. Only one differed from this, a man of significant bulk with a bear pelt draped across his helm, his uniform resembling the others but with crude claws upon his gauntlets.

He plopped down from his horse and he was the apparent leader of this band. "To the inn, soldiers!" he ordered in a gruff, gravelly voice. "Warm up."

His men (and women, might I add) obeyed, tapping their chestplates twice and moved into the inn. They barely glanced at us, moving past as if we were just dead trees embedded in the snow. I felt Breyla let loose a sigh at my side and then, she tapped my wrist. "Come, inside…"

I nodded in return and we walked into the inn. A roaring firepit greeted us, as well as an argument between two parties - One a Altmer in mage robes, the other a blonde Nord in a dirty tunic and apron.

"It was like some monster had been turned inside-out, then exploded!" The blonde exclaimed, who I recognised as the barkeep, Dagnar. A nice-enough man, for a Nord I suppose. "What the hell did you do?"

"It was a minor miscalculation, merely need to transmute the degree of energy into the harmonising resonator and reapply Gaelion's Third Law. I have already corrected it for future experiments," the Altmer replied in a matter-of-fact tone.

Danar blinked, as if he hadn't understood a single word of that. But then he huffed and pointed an accusing finger at the mage. "This… This is why people have a problem with the college, Neclar!" And with that, he sodded off to tend the now full bar.

I cocked my head at this, watching the elf walk into another room and waft smoke out of it with a rag. Breyla chuckled and sat at a table by the fire, brushing down her hood and letting the cloak drop from her shoulders. I followed suit, sitting my cloak beside me on the wood.

We sat silently for a moment, before my companion went and fetched us mead, dumping a few coins upon the bar and returning with the drinks. I sipped from my tankard uneasily, listening to the howl of the wind and the crackle of the fire. Breyla seemed to be lost in thought, but then, out of the corner of eye, I saw her ears twitch and her face turned slightly towards the bar.

The soldiers had moved and had sat near our table, talking roughly in hushed whispers. Breyla turned away but she was eavesdropping, I could tell. I weaved a spell under the table, muttering low and then, my familiar formed. A rat, wispy and translucent, it scurried under the Stormcloaks feet.

Familiars were curious things. Crafted of pure magicka and thought, they were attached to their crafters by more than mere spell. These beings saw things, felt things… Heard things. And right now, I could hear the Stormcloaks every word as if they were right by my side, whispering right into my ears.

"Galmar, if they have returned…" one spoke harshly, the other's murmuring beside him in mutual agreement. "What is to say that they are not a weapon sent by the elves?"

The commander, Galmar as I now knew, slammed his fist on the table. "Do not be ridiculous, Brunar, you know the stories as well as any Nord. No elf could control a dragon."

My face furrowed in disbelief. Dragons?! My eyes flicked to Breyla, mouthing the word at her and her eyes narrowed, as if I was making a joke at her.

"But if the legends are true… Is it a sign from Talos? That he is displeased with us?" one Stormcloak whispered in a hushed tone.

"By Shor, are you an idiot?" another grunted, wiping a hand across his great red beard and fingering the knot below his chin. "Talos would be pleased to see his son following the Way of the Voice, taking back his land!"

"Watch your tongue, new-blooded!" replied the first, spitting his words like hot coals. "Regardless, we must plans to defend Windhelm! If it flies from Mount Anthor down to the city, we would stand no chance."

"We will defend it as we have always defended our lands!" a third Stormcloak said. "A dragon is no match for Ysgamor's city!"

The Nords squabbled now, their words growing too hard to hear, and my familiar faded away as my magicka source depleted. I shook my head, a little weary and rose then, heading outside. I could hardly believe what I had heard… Dragons!

My companion joined me, tapping my shoulder as she approached me. "They spoke of… Dragons? No one has seen them for hundreds, no, thousands of years!" she exclaimed breathlessly.

"The closest I know of dragons is some animals back home," I replied, watching the snowfall with a curious expectation. "Yet, they are smaller and still alive…"

We stood in silence and I was thinking hard. Dragons… What a wondrous experience that would be to witness! It is said that their breath abilities were not of magicka, but of voice, like they were engaged in a great debate rather than battle. If only I could see them…

"Hey Breyla!" I said suddenly, turning to face her. "Where is Mouth Anthor?"

She blinked, her crimson eyes meeting mine. "I believe it is beyond the Shrine of Azura, a few clicks over the ridge between here and Windhelm. Why?"

I chuckled and pumped my fist in the air. "Come, we must find that dragon!"

She gasped. "Are you insane?! Has your brain turned to mush?!"

My mind wandered, ignoring her words. Yes, perhaps I was insane. But how could I not be excited by this revelation? Imagine the Arch-Mage's face when we tell him of studies involving a dragon! I, no we, would be the first in thousands of years to seek a dragon and speak to it as an intelligent creature, not a monster to rampage and destroy.

My feet moved before I even knew they were going. I headed into the snow, across the road and into the stables, mounting one of the College's horses and nudging it forwarded, heading out of the front gate. I glanced over my shoulder and found Breyla beside me, swinging herself up onto the saddle behind me.

"I don't have a choice in this, do I?" she sighed, pulling her hood down over her eyes.

I snickered. "Not a chance!"


End file.
